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Kaamis crept up to the ridgeline's crest. His movements were slow. Only one limb ever reached out at a time, and between each movement was a lengthy pause. His progress kept time with the sunrise. As the line of first light sank slowly down the side of the hill, the raider clawed and slid his way to it's top. His heart was pounding. He dared not go any faster. He kept one ear pressed to the earth, listening to the hard rocks for any sign that his quarry was moving away. Or even worse, that it was moving towards him. But fortune had smiled, and the staccato pattering of those many clattering limbs was the same pitch. Not that Kaamis understood the concept of pitch, or the notion of staccato. Kobolds live short lives defined by concepts of hunger and fear, family and warmth. Kaamis understood that he could hear the scorpions through eighty feet of solid stone, and that was all he needed to hunt them. By the time the sun was high enough to shine down over the hill, Kaamis was at the ridge. He peered over. The scorpion matriarch was busily eviscerating a coyote's corpse while her young skittered on her back, restless for meat. Kaamis' was glad to see his shadow was behind her, but even if she had noticed it the sun would have been blinding if she looked for him. More than that, Kaamis had chosen a place on the ridge where the stone's colour matched his scales. 'Kobolds' who do not learn such tricks do not live long among the sands. One scorpion. Kaamis could handle one scorpion. They were larger than a Kobold twice over, but they lacked a Kobold's cunning and speed, relying on claws and sting and fury. The young ones were no danger, either, they did not even have their venom yet. Their meat was softer, Kaamis knew, and more tasty than that of their mother. But it was foolish to go daydreaming about eating scorpions while they weren't dead, so he ducked back down below the ridge and reached for a nearby stone. For her part, the matriarch was not slow to respond. When she heard the clattering coming at her down the ridgeline she turned in one smooth motion, claws and tail reared for a killing strike. The rock that tumbled down before her was seized and lashed by those massive claws for a spare few seconds, before she recognized it as scenery. She saw Kaamis' shadow then, but did not have time to react. The hunter, in one huge, running leap, had soared into the air between the ridgelines and come down like a thunderbolt onto the scorpion. With all his weight behind his spear, it drove through her carapace, her brain and back out into the dust below. Kaamis rolled clear of the kill, wary being caught by a flailing claw or stinger in his moment of victory. Good hunters had been lost that way before, he knew. He heard Wyrm calling from far, far below him. The low, long rumble was too deep a sound for even his feet to feel, but he heard it all the same. Kaamis grinned. Perhaps Wyrm had heard him too, in his victory, and sent congratulations. He would ask the Squigherd, once he returned with this fabulous feast. There is precious little meat on a scorpion, under all that carapace and amongst their bony structures, but Kaamis knew how to gather it all. And there were the young, who could be crunched, shell and all. Kaamis considered eating one here and now, as he drew his carving knife. It was then he saw the shadow of the second scorpion, but far too late to react. The legs, he thought. Too many for one, I heard, but the others could not have been her young. Stupid Kaamis. And far below, Wyrm called again. Category:DFRP World 9 Category:Stories and Legends